The Speakeasy
by Razzbairee
Summary: Alcohol smuggling is a business and business requires money. You pay your debts and you are spared. DISCONTINUED


Disclaimer: I do not own DOA.  
  
Well, I decided to create a new fic and put it in an alternate universe: the 1920's!!! When alcohol smuggling was a big issue according to what I learned. All of the DOA characters (including Lisa, Donovan, and Irene) have a role in this fic. Now, if I get anything wrong (with the 1920's era and everything), tell me so I can fix it. Don't let me continue with the error. Thanx.  
  
And also, I'm changing the format for my fics from now on. Instead of html, I'll be using text. It looks better.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Prologue  
  
It was a dark room in the Rolands apartment building. There was a single individual between the sheets on the bed in the small room. Empty jugs stood at the foot of the bed, each emitting a hint of intense alcohol from its lip. The window was ajar, letting the wind in to blow the curtains aside. A bright, full moon glowed past the curtains and into the small room. It glowed a white glow upon the man that had turned to his side and faced the window. He rubbed the stubs on his chin, mumbled, then regained a motionless sleep.  
  
All was quiet once again until a creak sounded from the other side of the room. The door had opened. A crack at first, but a gloved hand along with a sleeved arm opened it more. The trespasser peeked inside, his hair casting a spiked shadow upon the wall. He noticed the man asleep and grinned, pleased that he would get to surprise the man. And he was not alone. He stepped into the room and let a woman inside, also. She was a blonde woman with a large bust, a hint taller than the man beside her. She had on a white blouse with black buttons, skirt, heels, and gloves. A formal wear along with the man beside her, who was cloaked in a black tuxedo.  
  
Another woman had stepped inside the room. She was cloaked in a black suit, skirt, stockings, heels, and gloves. Black earrings dangled from the lobe of her ears, partially hidden underneath her short, white hair. Her silver eyes laid upon the man sleeping on his bed, unaware of the trouble. She grinned, also then turned towards the two individuals by the wall. Reading her mind, they wandered away from the wall and stopped by the two sides of the bed. The man's gloved hand reached into a pocket within his tuxedo jacket and pulled out a smooth object that glistened in the moon's glow, a silver handgun. The blonde woman pulled out a handgun from within her skirt, also and the two held them at the man. The white-haired woman made her way over to the base of the bed. Then the three of them waited.  
  
A faint clicking of slow footsteps emitted from the hallway. The three trespassers didn't bother turning to see who was on the way. They knew. He was a large, hefty man with a stern face and jet black hair. He donned a black tuxedo with a single red rose in the pocket. And he stood above the three in height.  
  
The heels of his glistening, black shoes clicked against the hard floor as he strolled over to the bed with his hands in his pants pockets. The white-haired woman turned towards him when he stopped alongside her to look down at the sleeping man. He kept his eyes on the man, his stare evolving into a scowl. The white-haired woman noticed this and turned her gaze onto the blonde woman. She nodded, knowing what to do. It was time to for him to awake. She brought her hand that grasped the handgun up to the side of her face, then quickly swept it across the sleeping man's face in a loud whack, waking him up instantly.  
  
"What the?!"  
  
The man sat up in his bed, rubbing the bruise that was starting to form on his cheek. He noticed the four trespassers standing around his bed, two with guns pointed right at his face. His heart sped and sweat accumulated on his forehead. He knew who they were and why they were there. But he expected a warning of their coming instead of a sudden barge-in. He needed more time . . .  
  
He opened his mouth to scream for help, but the barrel of a gun was shoved into his mouth, making him gag. A strong hand grasped his forehead and forced his head back onto the pillow. His long hair braid flew back, smacking the pillow. The man opened his eyes after coughing and stared back into the eyes of the man holding him down.  
  
"Don't utter a word," the spiked-hair man threatened him in a whisper.  
  
The man stared back into his eyes. The cold stare he was giving back was all he needed to know that the spiked-hair man was serious. The man feared for his life even if he didn't utter a word. He witnessed the spiked-hair man gun down several people. Most of the times were accidents. But what did those people mean to him?  
  
"Whoops! My finger slipped!"  
  
He remembered the amused grin upon the spiked-hair man's face then his insane laughter afterwards. The man had a gut-feeling that he was going to die that night maybe right that minute if his finger happens to slip. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the tears from falling, but they slipped through and rained down his cheeks. He was soon weeping in front of the four trespassers. The blonde woman and the spiked-hair man turned away from him and towards the white-haired woman and hefty man by the base of the bed. The white-haired woman had an amused grin upon her face as she watched him weep. But the hefty man still held his scowl.  
  
"Where is it?" he spoke up in a whisper to not awake the neighbors.  
  
The spiked-hair man and the blonde woman turned back to the man. He had quieted down and opened his red eyes to look back at the hefty man. He mumbled as best he could with the gun in his mouth, asking him to repeat his question.  
  
"I said, 'Where is it?'" the hefty man repeated himself, his tone angrily rising.  
  
The man had slowly raised his shoulders to shrug when the hefty man spoke abruptly, but still kept his whisper, "You don't have it?!"  
  
The man lost all hope of seeing another sunrise after hearing him speak. He needed more time. The hefty man's scowl grew fierce. He wanted it and he wanted it now. He had plans for it.  
  
The man started to weep once again. He brought his hands together as if begging the larger man for more time. The spiked-hair man rolled his eyes at the gesture. He has seen it done plenty of times before. They were pathetic. You don't pay your dues, you die. But people couldn't accept that fact.  
  
The three trespassers looked over at the hefty man for orders. The man watched as he brought his thumb up to his cheek and ran it across. The man knew what that meant. And he didn't want it. When the hefty man turned to leave the room, he struggled against the spiked-hair man's grasp to the point where the blonde woman had to help hold him down. She pressed his arms down onto the mattress as the spiked-hair man stuffed his mouth with a nearby sock then proceeded to hold his legs down. The white-haired woman watched as the man struggled. She smiled when he laid his frightened eyes upon hers. There was the sound of the door shutting before the click of her pocketknife being drawn. The man tried to scream through the sock, but it only came as a muffled cry. The white-haired woman held up her knife by the side of her face then began to slowly crawl onto the bed, enjoying every moment he struggling against their grasp.  
  
When she was finally face to face with her victim, she flashed the knife in front of his sweat-covered face. The spiked-hair man looked on, eager for the moment. He wanted to see it happen. He wanted to see his blood. It was always the best part. The blonde woman just wanted it down with. Someone could come in at that very moment. And she wasn't in the mood to chase after someone just to gun them down on the street.  
  
The man's eyes were wide as his sweat mixed in with his tears upon his moist face. He felt as if his heart was going to burst. The white-haired woman brought the knife down onto his cheek . . .  
  
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Well, there it is. You can get an idea of what will happen in later chapters, right?  
  
Next: Chapter 1 - Me and You 


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